East

The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.

What You'll Find Here

City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Inner Sanctum
Red on the Water
Starlight Tower

Maybe this is madness underneath my skin


Posted on February 24, 2018 by Spencer Lombardo
East


You call and I respond, the sparrow and the song
I miss you when you're gone



The air was cold, bitterly so, outside yet the inside of the green house gave no indication, the heat lamps almost causing the atmosphere to border on the side of sweltering, especially when the person working within the glass walls was dressed for the chill of winter. A cigarette hung loosely in the center of his mouth, unlit, as his attention drifted from his bad habits to the noticeable wilt in one of his beloved plants. While the shelves and tables were filled with troughs that carried the lifeblood of his potions (though you would not find traces of his most prized possessions here), his concern today was focused on a small flowering plant that was useless as an ingredient. While useless for his business, Spencer took unprecedented care of this particular flower due to sentimental value, something he rarely liked to admit he possessed. His fingertips lifted the wilting leaves, frowning at the browning edges, before murmuring gently. His words weaved gently through the warm air, tangling around themselves before separating then braiding together once again as they slipped into the soil. The plant seemed to greedily drink them up, the brown giving way to green, leaves lifting from their drooping positions. Fingertips gently rubbed the edges of a petal before withdrawing, satisfied that his possession was once again happy, healthy. A firm nod, he braced himself before leaving his sanctuary to return to the bitter weather and reality waiting outside.

While the plants were well stocked for their food supply, Spencer noticed that his kitchen had become rather light and needed a stocking of its own. He frowned, having always found food to be one of those annoyances. He didn't enjoy cooking and enjoyed food shopping even less but it would be necessary to prevent him from spending all his money eating out. Not to mention, it would be better for his health to make his own food rather than delivery, or at least that's what people claimed. Sighing irritably, he gathered the items needed for his venture to the grocery store. Once there, it was rather uneventful. There was the impatient wait for the slow-moving person to get their cart, the irritation of the person cutting him off to get the item they needed, the screaming brat, the group of teens not paying attention and blocking the whole walkway... Yes, just another irritable day of shopping. He sidestepped down an aisle he wouldn't need to avoid the overly crowded one next door when he heard a voice speak up. At first he had disregarded it since he wasn't expecting anyone to talk to him but, after a moment, realized aside from the shorter woman, he was the only one in the aisle.

"Hm?" He hummed in question, trying to recall what she had said. While he couldn't recall her exact words â€" that's what happens when lost in his own thoughts â€" he did put some context clues together to see her pointing toward the flour. There's that brief thought that flickers through his mind to keep going, to ignore her and pretend he hadn't heard. However, it was too late for that now since she clearly knew he had heard at least something. He scooted his cart to the edge, stepping up next to her to retrieve the item. Really though, who put the flour up there? That seemed rather uncalled for.

"Does it matter which one? And how many?" He questioned, glancing down toward her. "One or two?"



single | warlock | notes:

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